


We Are Police Colleagues

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4537839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy make the ultimate bet; Clarke despairs of wasting tax dollars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Police Colleagues

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vaguely Brooklyn-99-inspired FBI AU with very minimal actual FBI things for nerdyemsy. Like, no FBI things. I cannot stress this enough.

The thing about being in the FBI is that, maybe eighty percent of the time, it's like every other job. Clarke has a desk covered in pictures of her family and weird shit she's accumulated over the years. There's a water cooler, and every few days she'll find Miller, Jasper, and Raven in there arguing about TV shows. She does a lot of paperwork. She complains about her coworkers. It's all really normal.

Well, okay. The Bellamy thing might not be normal.

"I bet you five bucks I can land this in the recycling," he says, rolling his chair up next to hers.

Bellamy used to be firmly in the category of coworker-she-complains-about. He's brash and cocky, exactly the kind of guy she spent years putting up with at Quantico, beating them in every exam because they think they're hot shit, but she's actually _good_.

He is too, though; that's what changed it for her. Bellamy isn't all talk. He's smart and dedicated and capable, passionate about his work, and he's always there for her when she needs him. He's also _fun_ , good at getting Clarke out of her own head, and--okay, yeah. Bellamy is officially in the _office crush_ category, and that is probably normal, but she's not dealing with it very well.

"Make it ten." She frowns. "What is that?"

"Paperwork I'm not doing." At her look, he grins. "It's scrap paper with no protected information on it, Jesus. Don't worry, no one is going to see anything they shouldn't."

"Fine, ten bucks."

"Your betting thing is weird," Raven says. Clarke throws a scowl at her, mostly because Raven _knows_ Bellamy is her office crush, and she's always worried she'll be a dick about it. 

Raven gives her a sunny smile, which is, as always, the opposite of reassuring.

"Your face is weird," says Bellamy, cheerful.

"It's not, my face is gorgeous."

"She's right." Clarke nudges his chair with her foot. "Come on, I want ten bucks."

"This is such a fucking easy shot," he says, and she kicks the chair just as he throws, pushing his shot wide. He laughs in surprise, giving her a pleased look, like he's excited she's fucking with him. "I'm not paying you for that. You're a goddamn cheater."

"At no point did you say I _couldn't_ kick your chair," says Clarke. "Pay up, Blake."

He gives her the ten with a shake of his head. "You're buying me a drink with that tonight." He glances back at Miller. "We're still doing drinks for your birthday, right? I want to meet this boyfriend you claim exists."

"He exists, dickface," says Miller, not looking up.

"You met him on the internet, no one on the internet is real."

"Shit like this is why I printed off that _Old Man Yells at Cloud_ picture and taped it to your wall," Raven remarks. "Anyway, yeah, Miller, drinks, right? I told that dumbass engineer about it, so if no one else shows up, he's going to think it's a date."

"It might still be a date," Clarke says. "You did ask him for drinks."

"Group thing!" Raven protests. "Group things aren't dates. That's the whole point of group things. Miller, we're celebrating your birthday whether you want to or not."

"And you're spending your ten bucks on drinks for me," Bellamy says, giving Clarke a grin.

She blames the grin on what happens that night.

"We should just do--one big bet," she tells him, waving her drink for emphasis. Raven might not be wrong about their bet thing being ridiculous. They make a lot of dumb bets.

"Get it out of our systems," he agrees. "Something fucking _epic_."

"The bet to end all bets."

"The bet to end all bets."

They clink their glasses together and get down to terms, which Clarke is--a little hazy on. She writes it off as a drunk thing the next morning and doesn't worry about it, just grabs some aspirin and food and settles in for the weekend.

But then, on Monday, the whiteboard in the back of the office says _BLAKE AND GRIFFIN'S MOST EPIC BET EVER_ in Raven's neat handwriting. 

"Oh fuck," she says.

"This was your idea," says Bellamy, pressing a cup of coffee into her hand. "You started it.

"Shut up." She rubs her face. "Most--bad dude take downs?"

"Your words," says Raven brightly. "Six months, most bad dude take downs wins. I wrote it all down."

"Why were you so sober?"

"So I wouldn't sleep with the dumbass engineer. Also as soon as I found out you two idiots were doing the bet to end all bets--"

"You get my car?" asks Clarke, looking at Bellamy.

Bellamy shrugs. "I assume Raven wouldn't make that up. Apparently _you_ wanted a date."

Sure enough, _Clarke wins: Bellamy goes on the worst date ever with her_ is written right there, in stark black and white. 

"How are those even remotely equal in value?" she asks, trying not to blush. A date, seriously? A _bad_ date? Is she twelve?

Bellamy claps her on the back. "It's cool, Griffin. I'm older, more mature, devastatingly handsome. It's natural for you to--"

She elbows him, hard, and he laughs. "This is why I'm taking you on the worst date ever," she says.

"Only if you win."

*

Clarke would like the bet to just die, because, one, she likes her car, and two, it's fucking embarrassing, having it right there, that if she wins this thing, she gets to take him on a _date_. That those are her terms. And it kind of--well, it's depressing, too, that that's what she has to do to get a date with him. Which is not even something she should want, because they're coworkers, _FBI_ coworkers, and that's even worse than dating a regular coworker, right?

Fuck her life.

*

When the bet starts, Clarke has known Bellamy for almost two years. She knows a good deal about him, because it's her job to pick up and collect small details about people. He's thirty-one, single, lives in Arlington. He has a three-legged dog named Hephaestus.

Three months into the bet, she learns he has a little sister.

"Are you busy?"

It's midnight on a Tuesday night; Clarke is about to go to bed when Bellamy calls, which is already weird. He's never called her, not outside of work hours, not on her personal cell. She knew he had it, but she didn't think he'd ever _use_ it. She figured it was kind of a boy scout situation. Always be prepared.

"Yes, I'm at a glamorous party," Clarke says, dry. "Everything okay? I assume if this was an emergency you'd be calling my work cell."

He huffs. "Yeah, it's--my little sister."

Clarke files away _has a little sister_ in her Bellamy Blake trivia folder. "What about her?"

"She got in a fight and refuses to let me take her to the ER because it's _really not so bad, Bell_." He sighs and she can picture him, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess, pacing back and forth. "You have--something? Medical background?"

"Some, yeah."

"I know it's late and you're probably going to bed, but if you'd be--I mean, if you could--"

"What's the address, Bellamy?"

It's only twenty minutes away, with no traffic, and Bellamy's waiting for her outside. He's wearing glasses, his hair is just as messy as she expected, and he's in a faded gray t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. He looks like a college student, kicked out of his dorm for a late-night fire alarm.

"Thanks for coming," he says. "I know this is weird."

"You're always weird. Is your sister okay?"

"Yeah. She's--stubborn." He sighs. "She works at this sketchy bar and--you don't care. Just come in, take a look, and I'll let you get home."

She catches his arm before he can go inside. "Hey. I don't mind. Really. Breathe."

He gives her a rueful smile. "Okay, well--thanks anyway."

Hephaestus greets her when they come in, and Clarke takes a second to scratch him before following Bellamy into the kitchen. She's never been in his apartment before, and she wants to snoop, but his sister is the priority. She still takes in some of it--it's fairly spartan, a lot of generic IKEA furniture, but it's clean and nice, and there's a dog bed in the corner of the living room that Hephaestus flops down in that makes her feel warm about the whole place.

In the kitchen, a gorgeous girl has a dishtowel pressed against her forehead, and she's glaring at Bellamy within seconds of seeing him. "I can't believe you called your girlfriend."

"Clarke, my sister Octavia," Bellamy says, sounding bored. "Octavia, my coworker, Clarke. She has some medical background, so just let her look at your stupid cut."

Octavia regards Clarke with some wariness; it's hard to place her exact age, but she seems much younger than her brother, a bigger difference than she would have expected. The wariness and annoyance are things she already associates with the Blake family. 

Bellamy props himself against the counter; Clarke sits down in the chair next to Octavia.

"Nice to meet you."

Octavia considers her, but finally moves the dishrag off her forehead. She's still bleeding, but it doesn't actually look too bad.

"He knocked you over?" Clarke asks, leaning in. "Or you hit a wall?"

"Hit a wall," Octavia says. "He got the drop on me." She flashes a grin, all sharp, white teeth. "He didn't keep the drop on me."

"O--" Bellamy starts.

"Do you have rubbing alcohol?" Clarke asks him. It sounds like the start of a fight, and that's the last thing they need. "Anti-septic? Anything? Go get it. And a wet rag."

He looks like he might say more, but Clarke gives him an impatient jerk of her head, and he huffs and pushes off the counter.

Octavia's still looking at her. "How long have you been working with Bell?"

"Two years."

She nods. "He mentions you a lot. He thinks you're good." 

"High praise, from him. Do you guys live together?"

"Yeah. Which can suck, like now. I'm _fine_. I should have gone to a friend's house, but--"

"It's not a bad idea to get yourself checked out. It's not too serious, though, you're right. No stitches."

"I've been in fights before. And he's been in more fights! He was _always_ fighting when we were kids. But he never cuts me any slack." She sighs. "It wasn't even my fault. Random act of douchebag! And Bell thinks I should press charges, like--god. I'd have to _find_ the guy and go to the police and just--who wants to bother, right? Fuck that. I won the fight."

"What if he comes back?" Clarke worries her lip. "Some people give up when you beat them, some people take it as a challenge."

"The bouncer's going to walk me home." She pauses. "Don't tell Bell."

"Please don't get me involved."

"He thinks Lincoln is too old for me, which is bullshit! Once you're over, like, drinking age, too old stops being a thing. Unless the guy is, like, seventy. I'm twenty-four, Lincoln is thirty, that's _fine_."

"I promise I have no interest in getting involved in you and your brother's arguments about your love life," Clarke says. "But I'm glad you're being careful. Just--don't not call the cops to spite your brother. I'm not exactly shocked he's the overprotective type, but he might be right."

Octavia opens her mouth to reply, but Bellamy comes back in and she shuts it again. "I found a first aid kit," he says, giving it to Clarke. "I assume that has everything you need."

"Thanks," she says, and then pushes him gently away. "Don't hover. You'll block my light."

He goes back to the counter, and Clarke gets the cut cleaned and patched up without any more interruptions. She's not going to get home before one, but she's had worse nights. 

Octavia thanks her, pecks Bellamy on the cheek, and says she's going to bed.

"What if you have a concussion?" Bellamy grumbles.

"I don't," says Octavia, at the same time Clarke says, "She doesn't."

"See?" Octavia says. "Doctor confirms. I'm going to bed. And you should too."

Clarke doesn't make to leave, though. Octavia's right, she should go home and go to sleep, she knows she should, it's late and they both have work tomorrow, but--she's in Bellamy's apartment, and she wants to stay. It's _stupid_ , but it feels like her chance to learn more about him.

"Thanks again," he says. "I try not to call my coworkers in the middle of the night with weird requests for medical assistance." He wets his lips, which is not a good way to make her want to go home. "I just worry. She never takes this stuff seriously."

"Maybe she would if it were serious."

He groans. "Don't take her side."

"I'm just saying, you guys probably could have dealt with this yourselves. She was doing fine on her own. Not that I mind coming out," she adds, quickly. "I really don't. Happy to help. But at some point, you need to take her word for if she's doing okay."

He cocks his head at her. "Only child or little sister?"

"Only child."

"I knew it."

"Shut up, profiler," she says, smiling. "I don't have siblings, but I tend to be kind of overprotective myself."

He grins. "I've noticed. You bring me food when you think I've been working too long."

"Well, you need to eat."

His smile is soft and fond, and it makes her think of things she shouldn't, not when she's in his kitchen, with him in pajamas, feeling warm and domestic. She probably just shouldn't see Bellamy Blake at all, outside of work. Not if she wants to retain her sanity and some degree of professional distance.

"You drove, right?" he asks, looking away from her. "You don't need a ride anywhere or anything? You need sleep. You're awful about it."

"I don't need a ride." She pushes up, stretches. "And I sleep plenty, shut up, Blake. Way more than you eat."

"I don't really think there's a good way to compare how much I eat to how much you sleep." He offers her a hand up, which is both sweet and a little weird. She can get out of a chair. But she takes the help anyway, because of course she does. "Go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

In the morning, he greets her with a muffin at her desk.

"You're going soft," she teases.

"You came in the middle of the night to help me with my sister," he says, gruff. "I'm not being soft, I'm being appropriately grateful."

Raven raises her eyebrows at Clarke, and Clarke just shrugs and takes a bite of the muffin. It's delicious.

*

Clarke might be trying to forget about the bet, but Bellamy isn't. Bellamy is updating the tally chart of how many bad guys they've taken down religiously, actually _arguing_ about it. And not even always in his favor. He and Jasper spend an hour debating if Clarke yelling at a guy at the bar for not tipping the bartender counted, and Bellamy was managed to get it put to a vote and win her the credit.

"You aren't just going to let this die, huh?" she asks him. They're working late on a case, and it's just the two of them in the office. Bellamy's stripped down to his undershirt and Clarke's trying not to look at his arms.

"Our case?" he asks, sounding amused. "Yeah, I figured I'd probably stay on it."

"No, I meant the--" she waves her hand at the whiteboard. "That stupid bet. You really want my car that much?"

"It has been keeping us from making other stupid bets," he says. "And your car is really nice."

"So why are you keeping such careful track of what _I_ do?"

"Because I'm not a cheater. That's you, remember?" he adds, smirking. "I'm keeping us both honest."

"Because you want my car."

"And I'm morbidly curious what the worst date of all time looks like," he says. "Really, I can't lose this bet, no matter what happens. But you can, so I'd get working. You don't want to start taking the Metro in."

"You don't want to pay the insurance on my car."

"So win," he says, and there's something in his voice, something she can't quite identify. The moment stretches, and she wonders what she's supposed to say. Before she can try to figure it out, he clears his throat. "But for now, we've got a case, right?"

"We've got a case."

*

"What do you think the worst date ever looks like?" Clarke asks Raven.

"You know what it looks like. You just have to decide if Bellamy came to town to surprise his boyfriend with a visit and found out he's dating someone else or if he's making his boyfriend dinner when his boyfriend's out-of-town girlfriend shows up." Raven throws her a smirk. "I already know the lines for came to town for a surprise visit, if you need help."

"Thanks. That sounds perfect." She rubs her face. "I was hoping maybe I said something when we were making the bet. Something, you know, helpful. Like, _I'm going to take you on the worst date, and here is what it will involve_. Maybe an itinerary."

Raven snorts. "Yeah, no, it was embarrassing, actually. He was like, I want your car, and you were like, I want to go on a date with you. And then you noticed what you said and were like, a bad date! As a joke! A joke date! and he was too drunk to notice that you're totally fucking into him."

"Fuck," says Clarke, putting her head down on her desk. " _Fuck_. Either I lose my car or I have to come up with a fucking terrible date to hide that I want to go on a _real date_."

"Or you could just go on a real date. You guys are kind of friends now, right?"

"Kind of," Clarke admits. After the fight, Octavia insisted on thanking Clarke, which meant buying her a drink and getting her number, and turned in to being invited over for occasional movie and game nights. And those all involve Bellamy. She doesn't just call him up to hang out or anything, but they're friendly. They do non-work stuff.

She's _really_ fucking into him.

"If he wanted to go on a date, he could just tell me, right? I mean, I put _date_ up as my prize for winning a bet. That's the most obvious thing of all time."

"You said bad date. And he was drunk."

"Fuck," she says, again. "I could just get a new car. I could afford it."

"You could just jump his fucking bones."

"He'll probably be disappointed if the date isn't shitty."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Nothing upsets guys like getting laid instead of going on a shitty date."

"We're coworkers," Clarke says, primarily because Raven will know all the protocols and tell her what loopholes there are.

"Neither of you is a supervisor. All you have to do is disclose the relationship. No one cares about that, Griffin. You sure as hell don't."

Clarke has to admit she doesn't. "I could hire a clown, right? No good date has a clown. One who does balloon animals."

"Sure. I bet you'd still get laid."

"Fingers crossed."

*

"You tackled him!" Clarke says.

"Only because he was trying to get away from you!"

The rest of normal office operations have stopped; everyone is just watching her and Bellamy fight about which of them deserves credit for taking down which bad dudes in their latest case. Sometimes she remembers that her salary comes from taxes and feels kind of bad.

"He had a gun," says Clarke. "He was getting ready to shoot me. If you hadn't been there--"

It's not supposed to be a grim vision of what could have been--she could have handled it--but Bellamy goes pale.

"You would have been fine," he says, gruff.

Clarke wets her lips, unsure how to respond. Luckily, Miller pipes up. "Nope, sorry, Blake, you're a hero. I know it sucks--"

"Oh, like you'd know anything about being a hero, Miller," Raven interjects, and the two of them get distracted bickering about how Raven barely even goes in the field, so Miller's way more of a hero than she'll ever be.

Clarke bumps her shoulder against Bellamy's, taking a private moment while Raven and Miller distract everyone else. "I win."

"Which means I get the credit and we're tied," he says, with a small smile. "That's not really winning. If you'd just taken it, you'd be up two."

"I'm turning over a new leaf. No more cheating. I'm going to win fair and square. We've got a week. I can definitely find some people mistreating service professionals in that time."

Bellamy laughs, giving her a warm smile. "Looking forward to that date, huh?" he asks.

"You were right, I tried talking the Metro," she says, shrugging. "Going out with you is bad, but taking the Metro is definitely worse."

"As long as you've got your priorities straight."

*

The day before the bet ends, Clarke gets to work early. That's one thing about having a car--she tries to leave so that she'll be on time if traffic is awful, but if she lucks out, she'll be really early. Of course, it's the DC Metro area, so it's pretty rare that things go well for her commute.

She still likes it better than the Metro. Clarke doesn't like being surrounded by strangers. It makes her edgy.

The light is already on in the office, and Bellamy is there, by the whiteboard. He jumps at the sound of the door and gives her a guilty smile when he meets her eyes.

"Don't tell me you were cheating."

"No, I, uh--" He stops as Clarke comes up beside him; he's changed _he gets Clarke's car_ to _Clarke goes on the worst date ever with him_ next to the _Bellamy wins_ line. "I looked into insurance payments," he says, somewhat lamely. "You're right, I really don't want your car."

"You don't," Clarke repeats, feeling herself start to smile.

"And I'm really curious about the date. I mean, what's the worst date ever, really?"

"You're making dinner for your boyfriend and another girl shows up and you find out she's his girlfriend too." Bellamy looks confused, and Clarke grins. "Raven has experience being the girl who showed up. She volunteered to help."

"That does sound pretty bad." He considers. "Were you making dinner, or did Raven just decide to share this with you for your worst date ever?"

"I was making dinner. She was coming down here for her interview, decided to surprise him."

"Wow. Did he survive?"

"You think Raven and I murdered someone?"

He shrugs. "If anyone could get away with murder, it's you two."

"He's fine. He moved to California, I think he decided the entire east coast was too dangerous, between me and Raven, but he's still alive."

"So, that's your plan?"

"I'm trying to top it," Clarke says. "Get a clown, someone to do caricatures, the whole nine yards."

"So, what I'm hearing is that your idea of the worst date ever is pretty much a street fair. Did you have a traumatic childhood experience?"

"Stop profiling," she says, leaning against the desk across from the whiteboard with him. "Like you had a better worst date ever."

He leans over and presses his lips against hers, which isn't really a response, but it's a lot better. It only lasts a second, and he smiles at her, tentative, when he pulls back.

"Kissing is more a good date thing," she says, returning his smile.

"Depends on who you're kissing." He bites his lip. "How do I rank?"

"Good date," she says, no hesitation, and he leans in again. She stops him with a hand on his chest. It's very firm and warm through his dress shirt, and Clarke is looking forward to getting more familiar with it. "This isn't a date, we're at _work_."

He grins. "At work is a pretty bad date."

"Yeah, but you haven't won yet." She can't resist kissing him once more, very quickly, before she goes to her desk. "Talk to me in a week."

"I have to wait a week?" he asks.

She laughs. "Well, for the _bad_ date."

Raven sees the change on the whiteboard and raises her eyebrows at Clarke; Clarke shrugs one shoulder and gets back to work.

She and Bellamy get dinner that night, and it's by far her best date ever. Not even close.

*

A week later, Clarke wins the bet, after Bellamy takes a vote on whether or not her getting in a fight with her conservative uncle on Facebook and telling hin he was a literal garbage heap counts as taking out a bad guy. The result is a unanimous _yes_ , and Clarke takes the lead.

"Not that it matters, since Bellamy decided he wanted a bad date too," says Jaha. Their boss has been mostly refusing to touch the entire bet thing, but even he was unable to stay completely uninvolved in the endgame.

America's tax dollars at work.

"His bad date and my bad date are probably really different bad dates," Clarke remarks.

"Are you still hiring a clown?" asks Raven.

"I'm figuring it out," she says, stealing a glance at Bellamy. They haven't mentioned that they've already gone on a couple dates to anyone yet--not anyone at work, anyway. Octavia knows because Bellamy brought Clarke home after the second date, and they lost track of time making out on his couch, but Clarke can't bring herself to be upset about it. She likes Bellamy's sister, and it's nice to have _someone_ who knows. She might be pretty excited about the whole thing.

Bellamy comes over at lunch to sit on her desk. It was hard enough to ignore her attraction to him before she knew it was reciprocated; now that it is, they need to have a talk about how he's not allowed to be _unbelievably hot_ in her general direction while they're on the clock.

"I honestly thought you had an elaborate plan for a shitty date," he tells her. "But I'm getting the impression you're just flailing."

"According to Raven, I asked for a date and didn't want you to think I wanted to go on a date with you, so I added the thing about it being a shitty date."

"Huh. I wish I'd remembered that sooner." He flashes her a grin. "Or, you know, ever."

"So what changed?" she asks. "Why'd you decide to make a move?"

"In case I won," he says. "I didn't want to miss my only chance to go out with you. Even just for a shitty date."

"You're cute," she says. "I'm thinking modern theater for our date, by the way. Something really experimental. It'll challenge our ideas of what art means."

He laughs. "Do your worst."

*

There's a clown, and a mime, and a performance of an experimental theater piece called "Gaia's Center," which is definitely about vaginas. They get dinner out of a vending machine, and Clarke makes Bellamy pay for everything, but after he still leans in and kisses her and says, "Probably in my top five best dates."

"Sap," she says.

He shrugs and doesn't deny it. "Am I coming up?"

"Sex might make this too good a date," she muses, like she's not already tugging him inside with her.

"You had an awesome time, shut up." He smirks. "Hey, I bet I can get you off in under ten minutes."

"I thought we did the bet to end all bets," she says, laughing. "We're supposed to be done."

"At work," he says. "Just at work."

"Oh, right. I forgot your secret dating clause."

"I'm sneaky." He kisses her. "Come on. Ten minutes."

Clarke can't help grinning. "You're on."


End file.
